


The Hunter, The Hunted

by Drake



Category: The Old Guard (Movie 2020)
Genre: AU, Assassins, Canon-typical Temporary Character Death, Enemies to Lovers, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-30
Updated: 2020-12-30
Packaged: 2021-03-10 19:29:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,239
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28422468
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Drake/pseuds/Drake
Summary: Joe and Nicky are both assassins, sent at odds to each other. Joe discovers something, and someone, along the way.loosely based on the tumblr post; ‘my ex wife sent an assassin on me but i sent an assassin on that assassin & they fell in gay love & now they’re having sex in my guest bathroom’
Relationships: Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani/Nicky | Nicolò di Genova, Nile Freeman & Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani
Comments: 20
Kudos: 203
Collections: The Old Guard Mini Bang 2020





	The Hunter, The Hunted

There were some days on this job that made Joe ask himself how he got here.

Of all the days that ever brought that question to mind, today took the cake. By far. 

Mostly given by the fact that he’s lying in a pool of blood, dazed, with no idea how he got here. He’s pretty sure it’s his own blood. Which is concerning because, as he drags himself up and glances down, he sees- yep. That’s brain matter. _His_? 

He shouldn’t be alive, if all that is his. But he’s here. His curls are sticky, wet. And his target is nowhere to be seen.

So much for an easy job. And the paycheck. 

Damn. He’d been looking forward to buying some new gear.

This says a lot about him, he thinks. Brain on the ground, somehow still alive, still _whole_ , and all he’s thinking of is what he could’ve bought with that paycheck.

Joe should probably figure out who it was that shot him. That seemed like a good next step.

He drags himself up off the ground and gathers up what gear of his is still close. Pulls out a spare hoodie and gets the fuck out of the old warehouse he’d been setting up the hit in. Time to regroup and gather intel, find out what he’d missed. It should have meant his death. He wasn’t going to mess that up again. 

\--- 

It’s Nile who tells him about the new face on the scene. Nicolo di Genoa, an assassin who came out of nowhere, and was making himself known by killing other assassins _and_ their targets, before anyone was the wiser. 

“Really, Joe, how have you not heard about this guy? Rumors have been exploding all over the dark web,” she says, feet up on the coffee table, her hands wrapped around a warm mug of tea. 

“You know I don’t spend much time on social media,” Joe teases, with a little smile. She was shaken, when he came back as he did. A mess, somewhat in shock, mostly himself, but definitely alive. He’s doing his best to remind her that he’s fine. Against all odds. 

They tested it, too. He cut himself with a kitchen knife, when he’d come back. Hurt like a bitch, but then, just as the pain crescendoed, it started to fade. The cut healed. 

“Yeah, cause you’d end up on the legal side looking at cute puppy videos.” 

“See? You know my weaknesses. This is why I can’t make it without you.” Joe brings her a plate of french toast. His talent was breakfast foods, sweets. Wherever they went, he made a point of learning at least one local specialty.

And Nile was the one who led him to his targets. His partner, she was involved with at least one, though more likely three, international government agencies. Their arrangement protected him, while allowing her the capability of dealing with the particularly nefarious individuals, in ways that weren’t normally an option for her type. 

It worked for them. 

And it meant that Joe got to use his very specific skills to do some good. Where others couldn’t, or wouldn’t. He was making the world a safer place. Right up until he got shot in the head, anyway. He’d have to figure out what the hell was up with that.

“You think he did something to you?” Nile asks, glancing up. She always seems to know what he’s thinking about, too. 

“Why would he do that? His whole thing is killing assassins,” Joe points out, heading for the coffee machine to make himself another latte. 

“Maybe he knows you’re not like the rest of them?” Nile glances back down to her tablet. “Which might mean he knows about me.”

“I’ve been careful,” Joe assures. “If he found out-”

“He’s found out a lot more than anyone thought he could,” she replies, not unkindly. 

“You’re not wrong, but...I get the feeling if he could go out granting healing, he wouldn’t be doing it to the people he’s been killing.”

“Unless he’s been experimenting,” Joe says, thinking aloud. “Maybe he’s discovered immortality and has been working on implementing it using unconventional test subjects.”

“Let me get this straight,” she says, fondly rolling her eyes at Joe’s ensuing chuckle. 

“Never,” he interjects, before she goes on.

“You think this guy has found the secret to immortality. And is testing the solution. Via _shooting people_ with _immortality bullets_ in the _head_ . People who are very infamous _assassins_.”

“Well...when you put it that way it sounds ridiculous,” Joe says, pouting quite impressively. He turns away only because the espresso shot is done pulling, because he really thinks Nile should have had to sit with that expression a little longer.

“I know. That’s why I had to show you.”

“Okay, so if he’s _not_ trying to do that, then what’s happened to _me_? I’ve been shot before. It hurt. A lot.”

Nile nods. She’d been the one to stitch him up. “I know. So that’s changed?”

Joe shakes his head. “I picked up a different cologne? I don’t know, you know I have a system and I stick to it.”

“ _Something_ happened,” she insists.

Joe just sighs, pouring the shots into a mug and following up with the steamed milk. “Your guess is as good as mine. Maybe you can do some digging?” he asks, as he heads over to her with the mug in hand. 

“I’ll have to see what I can find. I’m sure we have a file on him already.” She doesn’t specify which ‘we’. He supposes it is all the same, really. 

“In the meantime, I’ll look for another job. Can’t let them think he got me so easily,” Joe says, with a little smile, as he drops onto the couch next to her and reaches for his own tablet. 

“You’d better hope he hasn’t started bragging,” Nile warns.

“Yeah. That’ll be a headache. I don’t need to be popular, I just need people to recognize my name.” But not in _that_ way. That way just asked for trouble and death. Or experimentation, at the very least.

“Either way, you’re bound to run into him again,” she points out. “You should probably figure out a game plan for when you do.”

“Why do you always have to be right?” he asks, leaning back against the cushion of the armchair with a dramatic sigh.

“That’s what they pay me for,” she replies with a sly grin.

\--- 

Nile is right, of course. Only, the next time Joe meets him, it goes exactly as well as the first time. 

Which is to say, terribly.

He wakes up on the cold concrete of the alleyway, but this time he feels like he’s being watched. No, he’s _sure_ of it. 

He sees the glint of a sniper scope on a building across the street, and then he knows it. It makes him wonder if the whole job was a set up, a trap. Or if he just happened to be following him. How far did this go? 

Well. This was certainly more interesting than anything in recent memory, in any case. Joe flashes him a grin, warm and amused, and gives a little wave. Walks out of the alley like he’s entirely unfazed by this. Best to let the sniper think he was accustomed to this, instead of dealing with the implication of the fact that he maybe couldn’t die anymore. 

The sniper - Nicolo - doesn’t shoot again. 

\---

After that, Joe perhaps becomes a tad obsessed. Keeping track of everyone Nicolo’s taken down. Who he’s hunting. Where in the world he currently is. Or was last seen.

“I swear if I come back home and you’ve got a wall up covered in assassin photos and red string, I’m arresting you,” Nile threatens, though she’s smirking. “If I didn’t know you better, I’d say you had a crush on him.”

“On Nicky? Absolutely not,” Joe says, grinning.

“‘ _Nicky_ ’? You know he killed the last person who called him that, right?” Nile asks, incredulous.

Joe laughs, warm and amused. “Yeah? He hasn’t had much luck with me so far,” he points out. “That’s twice he’s tried to kill me that I’ve woken up from. And it seems to be taking. No matter who it is that hurts me. So I think I can get away with giving him a nickname.” 

“Yeah, but you keep calling him that, and he’ll start putting a real effort into killing you.” She says this casually, as she looks at the bags of takeout he brought home with him, snooping for her favorite dishes. He always gets them for her, of course. She lights up every time, regardless. 

“Maybe I’d like to see him try,” Joe says, handing her a pack of utensils. 

“Now you’re really asking for it,” she says, stuffing a bun in her mouth as she grabs another box or two to take to the table.

“You know me, I don’t like it when it gets boring,” he says with a helpless shrug, coming to sit with her.

“Yeah, yeah, just watch who you drag into shit with you,” she warns, waving a fork at him threateningly.

“I know. I know, Nile. I promise, I won’t let you come to harm.”

Nile smiles softly. “A kind gesture, but we both need to be careful when it comes to Nicolo, I think,” she says, and settles in to eat. 

Joe supposes she is right in this, too.

\--- 

When the job lands in Joe’s lap, he knows better than to take it. He _should_ know better. It stinks of a trap. Someone begging him to help, because his ex-wife sent an assassin after him, and no one else would take the job. 

The fool made the mistake of saying who it was, that was after him. No bodyguard, and certainly no assassin, would take a job for some nobody that would result in their death. They didn’t make it this far in the business without a good sense of self-preservation. 

Mostly.

Joe was always exceptional, though. In many things. It’s what made him so good at what he did. Being unpredictable was another valuable trait. In an assassin, anyway. Perhaps not an accountant. But that’s why Joe wasn’t an office worker.

Still.

The curiosity gets the better of him. And if this job is meant as a trap to bait him out, so what if it works? 

What was Nicky going to do? _Kill_ him? 

So he leaves a note and some warm breakfast in the kitchen for Nile to wake up to, letting her know he’ll be back soon enough, but he got a job and the bills _did_ need paying, since a certain someone insisted she couldn’t use her funds for any ‘fixture expenses’ like permanent rent. 

He’s not doing this for the money, though the sum certainly is quite ridiculous. He raised it by half a million every time someone said no. 

A _lot_ of people said no.

Their loss, really. 

But in the end, if Joe is doing this to get a little closer to figuring out what the hell is Nicky’s deal? Only Nile would really assume it of him. 

And maybe Nicky, himself. But then, Joe has no idea what he does or doesn’t understand. Know. About him. If he’s been doing just as much research in the weeks, months?, since.

The job is in Paris, because of course it is. What greater irony was there than for a wife spurned to send a hit on her ex in the city of romance and love? The universe certainly had a sense of humor. 

On the upside, this meant that he was only an afternoon’s train ride away, and then he could head off to the client the next morning. He has a very distinct feeling that he actually _can_ take his time. that Nicky is waiting for him to arrive before making a move. 

He’s not certain where this conviction comes from. It’s a long time since he’s had any sort of faith in someone else from the underworld. Contact, or no. 

That is certainly part of the draw, too. 

He wonders if Nicky is like him. Functionally immortal, though still capable of bleeding. Still capable of hurting. 

It clearly wasn’t a trait passed on through murder, or else there would be a lot more immortals running around than there should be. Though perhaps even _one_ was more than there should be.

What he wouldn’t give just to ask the man a question or two. Or five.

Thus, the job. 

The train passes through gorgeous scenery that he might, on another day, spend the morning drawing. Today his mind moves too quickly to be stilled with charcoal and paper. 

Before he knows it, he’s pulling into the Paris station, and he makes sure to get his bags and disembark in the thick of the crowd. He didn’t bring any serious firepower, knowing that he couldn’t contend with a sniper of Nicky’s caliber. All he can do is keep the target out of sightlines and bait him into moving closer. 

So that Joe can actually _talk_ to him.

He’s sure his client wants the exact opposite. But hey, as long as the guy lives, he won’t be able to complain.

Or maybe it’s the other way around. If he died at least he wouldn’t be able to talk. Best not to let the client catch on to that, though. 

\---

Joe settles into his hotel room, going out for a nice stroll in the crisp evening air. He’s told his client he’s in the city and that he’ll meet him tomorrow, but first he wants to decompress, focus, and...well, eat some crepes. What was the point of visiting France and all its bustle if one didn’t even stop to enjoy the food?

Besides, it gives him a chance to scope out the areas his client might frequent. Joe notes long sightlines through parks, as he walks along the lit trees, a warm ham and cheese crepe in one hand and a latte in the other. 

For just a moment, he isn’t working. Just wandering a city he’s only had the opportunity to visit a handful of times before. Never had the time to really settle into and explore, as he’d wish he could. 

But then, this is just another such outing, isn’t it. He has to stay on his toes, even when he’s not on the job, because he didn’t actually know what Nicky looked like. No one did, given the fact that he did his killing from afar, and that he never conversed with his clients directly. Took the money, did the hit, cleared out an assassin while he was out it. 

Until Joe.

What made him any different? He was just like the rest of them, up until he survived being killed. Twice. 

Joe watches the people around him, looking for that intent. That predatory, sharp gaze. None of the civilians around him have it. None watch him like a hawk, like they’re waiting to strike. He’s not sure why he expected any of them to. Why he thought Nicky would also be out here.

But he isn’t. Not the man in a hat with long hair sitting on a bench pretending to read the newspaper, nor the one who was walking easily past him down the boulevard with the prominent nose, nor the one with curly hair ordering coffee and continually glancing over his shoulder at the people around. 

What was Joe expecting? That the first person he bumped into in Paris would be the assassin he came here to thwart, that he was sure was also keeping track of _him_ , too? Really, if anything, that should make him _more_ concerned, not less. If Nicky had found him just after he’d arrived, how could he expect to surprise him at all?

So the evening is uneventful, but in a good way. He supposes.

No, he’s not disappointed.

Okay, maybe he’s a little disappointed. But as long as his client is alive in the morning, then no harm done. He’d still get a chance to find Nicky. The city was only so big, after all. 

\---

Being professional before 9AM was always a tall request of Joe, but he somehow managed it this morning. Though it meant no guarantee that he’d manage it in any future mornings. 

The coffee helps.

So does the absolutely delicious croissant. Truly, why couldn’t the bakeries back home do it like this? There was something about just being in the center of a culture and its food that led to the best of the best, he supposed.

Or would, if he was awake enough to think clearly.

Which he isn’t.

After the second coffee, he’s a little more conscious, and makes his way to the client’s apartment. He’s sure the man spent the night sleeping curled up in a corner and away from any windows. In fact, he’d bet money on it.

If Nile were here, she’d take him up on it just for the fun of it. 

He heads to the man’s address, scoping out the buildings around, the various sightlines, on his way. He’s not a sniper, nor does he _really_ know how to think like one, but he’s picked up enough to get an idea. And all the apartments, the way they lean in close? Not exactly great for a sniper. They’d have to be close. It’s a few blocks away that the taller buildings start to become common. 

Possible places, though unlikely, unless Nicky liked to test just how far he could shoot from and still make his mark. Too far, and he wouldn’t be able to commit to any kind of follow up. Would give his prey a chance to escape, to run off somewhere. It didn’t exactly feel like that was within Nicky’s risk tolerance. Especially given that no one had been heard of escaping from him before, neither assassin nor target. Except him. He was careful to disconnect any tie between him and his target then, though. 

He waits at the apartment building’s door until his client - Frank - buzzes him in, and then he wonders why he didn’t just pursue finding out how to reach out to Nicky on his own, no client necessary. He could have just looked up how people hired him, tried to hire him, and seen if he’d bite. 

A little late for this realization, he supposes. Oops.

Well, if this job ended up a wash, he knew what to do next. He should have plenty of time while babysitting Frank to look into it. Best to have as many options available to him as he could, until he got to the bottom of this.

There is, of course, a small chance that Nicky is just as confused about all of this as he is. Or maybe a large chance. But that would leave the both of them confused, and Joe’s hoping they can avoid that. 

Because who the hell else would he hunt down after that for answers? He doubts there’s anyone else, any other leads he could follow.

Frank’s building doesn’t have an elevator, Joe notes. Four flights of stairs wasn’t a problem, but probably a pain in the ass on grocery days. He supposed it would make the entry a little more defensible, at least. And give them more warning if anyone tried to come in. He planned on setting up some cameras, but if the man’s only being hunted by a sniper, the cameras in the close range probably wouldn’t do any of them much good.

Besides wasting time and giving him a false sense of security, in any case. 

Which, depending on how annoying Frank ends up being, may actually be worth it. He’ll keep the idea in his back pocket, in case he needs to placate him. 

The man is waiting by the door when Joe knocks, and it swings open immediately, while Joe’s hand is still reaching for the buzzer. He quirks an eyebrow. “Not very wary of you,” he comments idly. “good morning.”

“ _Finally_ , you’re here,” Frank replies, brushing off the admonishment with a sigh of relief. “I haven’t been able to sleep at all, I’m glad you’ve made it.” 

“Yes, yes, travel isn’t exactly instant, even these days,” Joe says, stepping into his apartment and moving past him to get a scope of the area. Frank had sent him pictures before he’d arrived, but there was no better way to defend a space than to be in it and really get a feel for it. 

The apartment is airy, light, and has far too many windows. Joe takes his time stopping at each one, looking for a place where a sniper might perch to shoot through it. 

There’s quite a wealth of options. He could only imagine how easy Nicky would think this job to be.

That Frank still breathes means he’s playing with his food. Or wasting time, waiting for someone to take the job to protect him. Waiting for Joe to. 

Now he’s really just projecting what he’d like to be true. Or at least what would be more interesting. 

“Have you noticed anyone following you lately?” Joe asks, as he walks through the apartment, needing no tour, nor invitation. 

“Ha- I haven’t even gone outside since this started happening,” he says, walking behind im, jittery. Jumping at shadows.

“What makes you think you’re any safer in here than you are out there?” Joe asks, an eyebrow raised, as he stops in the airy, open kitchen. 

“What do you mean?” Frank asks, almost suspiciously.

“Your apartment is more window than wall,” Joe replies drily. “If he wanted to kill you by now, all he’d have to do was shoot you while you stood at your countertop. And since you live alone, it’d be a much cleaner kill than if you were out walking in the open, on a crowded street.” Joe is, frankly, surprised that he does not know this, given he has now been in fear for quite a few days. If not longer.

“I- are you saying I should _not_ be staying home? That I should be in a hotel, or some other crowded place?” 

“Probably,” Joe says nonchalantly. “I’m surprised you’re still alive, honestly. Ni-colo,” he almost called him Nicky, “never leaves a trace. A big scene isn’t his preferred way to strike.” He walks, absentmindedly, toward the bay window overlooking the street. Wondering if Nicky is there. Watching. 

“You seem to know a lot about him,” Frank says, warily. 

“Who doesn’t? He’s become somewhat of a….viral sensation. If the underground had its own Vine, he’d be on it.” Joe pauses. “Or was it tiktok? I can’t keep up with them as they get taken down and created, anymore.” 

“That explains why I had such a fucking headache trying to get anyone to help me.” He groans, following Joe but staying out of the light beams reaching into the apartment. As if that was all that constrained how far someone could see into the place. It would be funny, if it wasn’t sad. 

Joe is reminded why he doesn’t take these sorts of jobs anymore. It was too hard to constrain for a clients’ behaviors. Quirks, habits. And they never really intended to keep him on the job forever - which was what was really necessary, for a determined assassin. 

But, if Joe’s hunch was right, then this wasn’t about Frank at all. He wonders if Nicky really does intend to kill him. Or if that’s just an afterthought. By all counts, Frank shouldn’t be alive right now, not with so many failed attempts to get a guard to protect himself. Nicky has had plenty of time to strike, ample opportunity. And a target oblivious enough to stay in his apartment, alone. 

Though to be fair, the apartment is quite nice. Joe can’t blame him for liking it enough to stay, even when in danger. And, he supposes, they didn’t give out ‘how not to get assassinated’ guides at the tourist center, did they. 

Maybe he should have emailed him a handy guide before he hit the train station. It would’ve made for a good on-the-toilet read, in any case. He’ll have to make one up later, if only to send to Nle for shits and giggles.

It’s as he’s thinking that, that he notices the glint off in the distance. Probably nothing-

And then he’s sure of it, and he’s moving to shove Frank out of the way in one swift motion, shoving him out of the way of the window and to the wall. He ignores the man’s undignified yelp, as he moves and pivots again, turning to look for the sniper. Waiting for the glass to break.

It doesn’t.

He sees the glint though. Straightens up, and gives him a little crooked smirk. If anything, it’s an invitation.

After all, what did he have to lose?

…

Besides his client, anyway.

He should probably care more about that than he does. 

The glint out in the distance disappears shortly after. Joe wonders what that means. 

\---

He doesn’t have to wonder for long. Joe spends the afternoon familiarizing himself with the apartment and doing what he can to make it clear what’s safe and what isn’t. More of the apartment ends up unsafe than is safe, but he has a hunch, anyway. He gets the feeling that Nicky won’t go for an impersonal, long-distance kill. Not now. As soon as the client dies, Joe wouldn’t have any reason to stay. And then neither of them would have answers.

Unless he’s seriously miscalculated. But Joe was an intuitive sort. He’s always been good at seeing into what others’ intentions were. 

Though he supposed what made them all interesting was the fact that humanity was full of surprises.

Which he just happens to be thinking about, as he stands in the bathroom, washing his hands. One moment the afternoon sunlight catches his eye in the mirror, and the next the glass has shattered, and something- _someone_ -

Is on him, shoving him into the full-length mirror. It cracks against the impact, and Joe is struggling to catch up to the sequence of events, the too-fast assault, his own hand reaching for a knife as he grapples the attacker. 

The attacker who _must_ be Nicky. And who he feels like he’s seen before, he realizes, despite the forearm shoved against his throat.

But where? Somewhere out here? Elsewhere? Where has this shadow been? 

“Hey, Nicky,” Joe wheezes, his voice just a little strained. 

The man tenses, an eyebrow curling just in the slightest as his glare sharpens. It’s the barest twitch of muscle, and yet it conveys so _much_. “What did you call me?”

“Nicky.” Joe grins, despite the pressure on his neck. “Why, what are you gonna do, kill me over it?” 

He hasn’t tried to reach for a knife, or otherwise break the hold. There isn’t much point in doing so, given that he can’t die and he wants answers. Especially since he isn’t sure whether or not Nicky is like him.

The assassin’s lip curls, a tic in his jaw. 

“That’s why you’re here, right? What did you do to me?” Joe asks, more serious now. 

“What did I do to _you_ ?” Nicky asks, his voice soft. “I’ve tried to kill you and you don’t die. What _are_ you?”

“I don’t know! You’re the first person who’s ever killed me,” Joe replies, exasperated. “ _You_ did this to me!”

“I have killed countless many before you. None of them stood back up again. This is not something _I_ did.” 

There’s a distant clatter in the apartment. Probably Frank belatedly scrambling for a hiding place. Too obviously. What a terrible mark, honestly. 

“I’ve been shot before! It never healed, not like I do now!” Joe would throw his hands in the air if he didn’t think Nicky would take it as an attack, and as much as he’ll heal, it isn’t _pleasant_ to be hurt. 

Besides, without that fear of dying, it isn’t the worst. He’s finally getting closer to answers, and Nicky is an enigma. More than. He’s sure he’s one of very few who’s seen his face and will live through the encounter. Unless, of course, he knows some way to kill him. Which would be quite unfortunate.

“You don’t plan on killing me, do you?” he asks. “It’s really quite unpleasant, and I’d say twice is more than enough for anyone, wouldn’t you?” Joe smiles, a crooked little thing. He can’t help it. 

“Perhaps third time's the charm,” Nicky muses, his voice calm and subdued. 

It is a question Joe’s asked himself before. If it’s limited. Finite. When or if he’ll actually die, if there are only a certain number of times he can be wounded before it just stops healing. 

“Maybe,” Joe agrees. “But then, that would be the end of something before we ever knew where it could go, no?” There’s something about him. That keeps drawing joe in. The fire in his eyes, the way his expression shifts just so, changing entirely in the minutest of movements. 

“What?” Nicky asks, taken aback, his grip slackening just slightly. 

“What if it wasn’t something you did, nor something I did, but the _two_ of us? Something’s entangled our fates, no? What if they’ve spun out far beyond, wandering forward, spun together?” Joe asks, becoming more certain of it as he speaks. It is perhaps the strangest explanation yet, but if Nicky expects him to understand the phenomenon, and _he_ expected _Nicky_ to, then what else could it be?

“What?”

“Perhaps another form of what some might call soulmates,” Joe says, and now he’s grinning. Maybe he’s teasing him. Maybe he’s being serious. The veneer is just that. Joe has never been good at hiding the heart on his sleeve. Nile has warned him about that. Not that the warning changed much, he already knew.

“Soulmates- destined to. what, meet in death?” Nicky asks, incredulous. Perhaps wondering how Joe came to _that_ conclusion.

Joe grins. “See, now you’re getting it. What other explanation for this is there?” 

“What- what do you expect from this?” 

“Well. I came here to see if you had answers about what you did to me. But seeing as you know exactly as much as I do-” Joe smiles. “Maybe we can take this somewhere else.”

“What, is the bathroom not an adequate place for you?”

He laughs. “I mean, it’s no coffee shop by the Seine, but I suppose it can do alright.”

Nicky’s eyes narrow, his shoulders tensing. “Is this a joke? Or are you-”

“Flirting with you? Yes,” Joe says decisively. “Is it working?”

“It...has. Certainly intrigued me,” the assassin replies. He hasn’t recoiled, or lashed out, or done anything else.

So Joe takes a leap of faith. It is not the first time he has done it, nor will it be the last. And he kisses him.

It’s just a light brush against his lips. But it’s so much more. An axial shift, in everything. He thinks he sees the same in Nicky’s eyes.

When Joe breaks the contact, Nicky swallows, idly licking the corner of his lip. “So. You...said something about a coffee?”

Joe beams, as bright as the sunlight filtering in through the broken window. “Yes!”

  
  
—————-

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you all enjoyed this ride! Art is by the lovely and wonderful MrKsan here on ao3, or Ksan [On tumblr!](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/ksansart)
> 
> Also!! The wonderful Ghrelt wrote a companion piece from Nicky's point of view! [Go read it!](https://archiveofourown.org/works/28470483)


End file.
